


Bubble Island

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: A Complete Diversion, Bath Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trench Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 07:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16113614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: No matter how many times he considers different ways to say what he's about to say to Josh, Tyler's left more foolish than ever. He doesn't know if there's even a small possibility for him to skirt around this any longer, not when Josh is now knocking his knuckles into Tyler's door. Tyler curls his legs into his chest, grimacing as he does this feat, and finds absolutely no solace in the bubbles on his skin any longer. "Don't laugh at me," Tyler pleads into his phone. "Okay?Don't laugh, but I can't get out of the bathtub."





	Bubble Island

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marsakat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsakat/gifts).



> translation into русский available: [Пенный Остров](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7668573) by [RunTheConverse](https://ficbook.net/authors/288286)

Out of everything he could be scared of right now, Tyler was most terrified of dropping his phone into the bathwater. He knew everywhere he looked said the phone was waterproof, and he even had the  _human_  customer service techs relay him this very same information over chat and voice, but he was still wary. They thought him strange. Never before had they met someone so concerned with the, not possible, but  _confirmed_  event that he would someday, somehow, drop his phone into a body of water. They probably assumed he was a traveler, a man who frequently vacationed on beaches, and Tyler, tugging his hat lower on his brow, never denied these tales.

It wasn't that Tyler would actively go out of his way to let the water claim his phone, no matter how much it seemed the opposite. He was careful. He was  _so_ careful. He's careful even now, body twisted around to rest his forearms along the ledge of the bathtub. Bubbles cling to him as if they were a protective second skin, a feature he wished his phone had. It's slipping in his hands, the case he smacked onto it useless against the suds now part of his skin until he sheds this corporal form and attaches to the next one when his soul departs. He debates on holding the device with two hands, one at the top and one cushioning the bottom—and he does so until he tries speaking into it and Josh, on the other end, is unable to decipher what he's trying to tell him.

A beat later, shaking, Tyler tries again. He sets his phone on the tile floor, reaching, reaching, reaching to press the button on his phone screen for the speakerphone option. He's out of breath from that stretch alone, and for that to be the first coherent sound Josh hears over the phone does nothing but confuse him and embarrass Tyler.

"Dude," Josh says.

"I'm so out of shape," Tyler says, and Josh giggles.

Pushing himself away and back into the safety of the tub, Tyler sinks until his nose resides above water. His knees are two islands desperate for contact.

Josh says, "Are you okay?" The confusion still lingers there, as does concern. Josh's voice, the briskness of it, makes Tyler think he's pacing about his room, grabbing things and shoving them into pockets before he embarks on his quest to rescue Tyler. It's a funny thought; Josh to the rescue again, indeed, and it does nothing but swell Tyler's heart to enormous sizes that would definitely warrant a doctor to sit him down and give him a lecture over his health.

And Tyler's health, that's something Tyler doesn't want to think about right now, so he pops his head over the tub's edge, wet cheek to the too-clean, pristine surface, and says, "You did so good tonight, dude."

The exhale that expands from the phone's speakers and fills the room pokes a smile onto Tyler's face. His smile grows when Josh laughs and quietly says, "You, too. It feels good to be back."

"We're never disappearing again."

Josh laughs more. "Never."

For a moment, there's silence between the pair of them. It's comfortable. Tyler slowly situates himself back into the tub, his knees the islands and, stretching out his legs, his toes by the dials, the people abandoned and waving for anybody to see them and return them to their island home. Tyler closes his eyes. "Good night," he whispers.

On the phone, Josh repeats himself. "Are you okay?" he asks. He's paused in his movements. Tyler imagines him standing in the middle of his room—or maybe the hallway, if he had already decided to walk his way down the hall to see Tyler without Tyler needing to ask. That swells Tyler's heart, too, the notion of Josh, without needing Tyler to say a word, dropping everything he's doing and running to Tyler's side.

Tyler sits up and grabs his phone.

He means for this to be simple. He means to just hold his phone to his ear and tell Josh, "Why, yes, Josh, I do believe I am, in fact, okay," but of course, his plan fumbles. When his plan is a vague aura floating around his brain, it is doomed to fail, but nowadays, he's trying to be more of an optimist.

Again, needless to say, the sounds he makes in his journey to sit and take his phone from the floor are sounds he hopes no one else hears ever again. They're not only pathetic, but also worrying.

Josh goes, "Tyler,  _Tyler_ , what the fuck is going on?"

"I'm," Tyler says, the word escaping as a wheeze. He clears his throat, coughs, and, shaking even more now, says, "I might need some help."

" _Help_ ," Josh says. "Where are you? Are you in your room?"

No matter how many times he considers different ways to say what he's about to say to Josh, Tyler's left more foolish than ever. He doesn't know if there's even a small possibility for him to skirt around this any longer, not when Josh is now knocking his knuckles into Tyler's door. Tyler curls his legs into his chest, grimacing as he does this feat, and finds absolutely no solace in the bubbles on his skin any longer. "Don't laugh at me," Tyler pleads into his phone. "Okay?  _Don't laugh_ , but I can't get out of the bathtub."

And Josh doesn't laugh. It sounds as if he doesn't even breathe either. There's more silence, and this is the kind of silence Tyler abhors. Josh says nothing, but Tyler can hear the barely there scratch of Josh's nails against the hotel-room door. "Do you need Life Alert?"

And now Josh laughs because Tyler is throwing his head back and laughing first. "I look like a gross prune," Tyler says.

Still laughing, "How long have you been in there?"

"A  _year_ ," Tyler answers, head turning to hear the door open and Josh's laughter become more  _alive_. It stretches throughout Tyler's room, knocking off spider webs the custodians may have missed, and then glossing it all with the protective barrier that is his voice.

"Tyler, are you seriously stuck in the tub?" Josh echoes in Tyler's ear through his phone and, now, through the bathroom doorway. He's knocking his knuckles along this door, too, nonverbally asking for permission to enter as he says, "I'll help you, obviously, but are you really stuck in the tub?"

"Yeah."

Josh opens the door.

Tyler stares at him.

He stares at Tyler.

"Are you seriously stuck in the tub?" Josh asks, phone to his ear.

"Yes," Tyler says, phone to his ear.

"Oh, my God."

"The show wore me out. So, can you, like"—Tyler ends the call and carefully places his phone on the tile flooring again—" _help_  me?"

Pocketing his phone, Josh approaches the tub. He's dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, had been ready to peel the camouflage from his legs as soon as they stepped off the stage. Handing him a water bottle, Tyler had told him that he could lose his pants right then and there, and Josh tugged on Tyler's earlobe and whispered, " _No_."

On the ride back to their hotel, Tyler sat up on the back of their couch in the tour-bus living room, Josh between his legs, and peeled off yellow confetti strip after yellow confetti strip from Josh's canvas of a tanned back. Josh was bent over, his elbows on his knees, his hands over his face, and his hair not quite a mess of dark curls, but on their way there. Tyler knew their fans thought he'd be the first one to witness Josh's decision to buzz his hair and embrace the natural state of it. Maybe a selfie, maybe even a Facetime session, they expected Tyler to be there for Josh as he took this next step on his hair journey. Little did they know—though, Tyler expects some of them might have their suspicions—Tyler had been the one to glide the clippers over Josh's scalp until it turned into a peach. Tyler didn't mind peaches, and while he greatly preferred Josh's hair longer, as he pressed his own freshly buzzed head to Josh's, he decided he didn't mind this either.

Josh, from his place on the couch cushions, told Tyler, "I feel a little gross," as he plucked a piece of confetti off his shoulder. "I can't wait to shower."

"Oh, yeah," Tyler agreed. "Me, too."

But when he stepped into his room and saw how much space the bathtub claimed, Tyler couldn't pass up this opportunity.

Josh wasn't scolding him either, strolling over to sit down next to him still desperately clinging to the edge of the porcelain. Josh knew his perchance for baths, and how, even if he had already showered for the day, he'd decide to draw a bath right before he settled down for bed. And always,  _always_ , he would have his phone with him. Josh directs his attention to it now, picking up Tyler's phone with its wet case and lit-up screen with Tyler's fingerprints all over it. He locks it, wipes it on his t-shirt. "You're the only person I know who'd take their phone into the bathtub with them," he says, and lays it back down on the floor.

Tyler counts two water droplets on the side of Josh's neck, travelling down from the small curls behind his ears. "Did I ruin your shower with my call?" he asks.

"Never," Josh says. He places his arms on the bathtub ledge, too, his cheek resting along his forearms as he mimics Tyler's position. "I was done anyway, was just enjoying the hot water."

"Dude." Tyler sniffs. "That's a weird way to say you were jerking off."

Narrowing his eyes, Josh taps Tyler's forehead. His fingertip stays, strong, holding Tyler's head in place. "Do you know what's  _actually_  weird?" He doesn't give Tyler a chance to answer before twisting around his finger. "You're obsessed with  _thinking about_  and  _talking about_  me jerking off."

"I can't help it!"

"Just stop bringing it up in interviews!"

Tyler's mouth quips. "I can't help it!"

"Okay." Josh raises his head, leaning in close to Tyler's face. Tyler tries so hard not to smile. "How would you like it," Josh says, "if, in the next interview, I told them  _all about_  how a certain lead singer rolled off his bunk and thought he broke his elbow because he couldn't control himself?"

Tyler gasps. "Good luck trying to weave that into our next interview."

"Oh, I  _will_."

Despite Josh's more-than-serious tone, Tyler knows in the deepest part of his heart Josh wouldn't disclose such information. Even if that did happen to be real—which, after all this time, Tyler denies ever such event occurring and chalked it up to everybody on the tour bus sharing the same carbon monoxide-riddled hallucination, excluding him, of course—Josh is a private person, and to an extent, Tyler is, as well. Josh's masturbation habits were arguably also a private conversation reserved for only select people to hear, but what can Tyler say to defend himself and his life choices? He's an asshole, and he loves Josh.

And Josh loves him. Terribly so, Tyler would go as far as to say. Josh was terribly in love with him, so much so he stopped jerking off in order to help Tyler from the bathtub.

Speaking of which, Josh now eyes the length of the tub, the width, and Tyler swears he can see the calculations dancing over Josh's face before Josh pushes himself forward, his knees knocking into the tub, and lines kiss after kiss on the bridge of Tyler's nose, up, up, up, until he reaches the crown of Tyler's head.

Tyler blushes, and yet, he can't find it in himself to feel embarrassed anymore. He has been made a fool of himself far too many times tonight, and having his skin react positively to Josh's lips on it won't be one of them.

"Can you move any?" Josh asks, dipping his fingers into the water, still warm, still full of bubbles. At Tyler's pointed silence, Josh smiles and delivers another kiss to Tyler's heated skin, this time to Tyler's cheek. "We'll get in shape before October, man. Don't worry. I'll help you out." He sits up on his knees, tilting his body to face the tub head-on. Lower, lower, lower, Josh sinks his arms into the water and hooks one arm around the backs of Tyler's knees and one around the small of Tyler's back. He pauses, peering at the water, before slowly raising his head. "If you can  _actually move_ , now would be a good time to let me know," he says, eyes on Tyler, the smallest of smiles on his face.

That smile is contagious, and Tyler can't help smiling, too. "Why would I do that?" He's raising an eyebrow, not meant as a tease, but more like a genuine question. "I want you to touch me," he whispers, then, rougher than he intends. His swallow gets caught in his throat, Josh's eyes on him a careful inspection as Josh doesn't move and doesn't say anything.

And then, acting upon an impulsive thought he shouldn't act upon, Tyler brings his hand down to the water, sharply slapping it and drenching Josh in the process. "Come on, Josh," he says, laughing shortly. "This bathtub can fit  _so many boys_  in it."

Josh laughs now. "I  _just_ took a shower, Tyler," he retorts. Despite this insistence, it doesn't stop him from removing his shirt. It was wet anyway. Going by how much Josh likes to remind Tyler and everybody in the crew, when it comes to drying off after showers, he wants to air dry. This only makes sense. It's the rightful next step.

Of course, Tyler drops his gaze to Josh's chest. Josh's skin, the freckles and how he's on his way to a shade lighter than Tyler himself, along with the dip of his sternum, all have Tyler salivating as he takes in the expanse of Josh's torso.

Of course, Josh places his hands over his nipples. "Dude. My eyes are up here."

"Uh-huh." Trying so hard not to wince as he sits up, Tyler stretches out his arms, very zombie-like, and hooks his fingers under Josh's palms. It's easy-going, taking Josh's hands away from his chest. Josh doesn't fight it, doesn't want to fight it, and he gladly relinquishes his hands over for Tyler to hold and coddle. He's still smiling faintly.

Rubbing Josh's knuckles and lacing their fingers together, Tyler uses Josh's body as a buoy—at first. Tyler's smile is sweet, but not too sweet for Josh to realize an ulterior motive is forming in that noggin of his. Josh returns his smile, and when he begins to tug on Josh's hands, Tyler knows Josh thinks it's so they can both meet in the middle and kiss. It's a cute idea, one Tyler wishes he wanted to implement. Maybe next time, if there's ever going to be a next time.

Tyler tightens his grip on Josh's hands and  _yanks_ Josh straight into the tub with him.

Josh drowns.

Not exactly, though the precedent is there, with how much he's flailing and kicking about his feet, his lower half still stuck above the water. Hands still grasping each other, Tyler ends up yelping when Josh struggles to push himself toward air and ends up shifting all his weight on Tyler's hands and forearms in the process. Tyler expects this, so he keeps his disgruntled noises to a minimum. After all, he  _did_  almost try to drown Josh.

Sputtering like a fountain, Josh emerges from the water and shakes his head like a dog. "Wow, Tyler. You're so romantic." He fumbles for a towel, a washcloth, anything he can use to dry his eyes.

Tyler helps him, snapping his fingers in Josh's ear and directing Josh over to the towel rack. He snaps at intervals, almost like a bat with sonar. Josh is his reluctant puppet.

"Thanks," Tyler says, "I always try to be as romantic as possible."

Towel to his face, Josh snorts.

Tyler snorts, too, a mockery.

Josh snorts for a second time. He places the towel back on the rack, fixing it just so, before returning to stare at Tyler. Two smiling boys, Tyler's smile only grows wider when Josh lowers his head and works on removing his pants. Tyler can hardly contain his excitement. He hurriedly shoves himself to the far end of the tub to make room for Josh without even allowing a scrap of a whine pass from his lips. But, God, does it hurt—the way things are going, Tyler doesn't see himself lasting very long on this leg of the upcoming tour. Even Josh's fitness regime couldn't save Tyler at this point. If he can't even perform a shorter set without his muscles protesting like they are now, he's dreading October. Josh said he'd help, though, and once he settles into the bath and shovels most of the bubbles onto Tyler's knees poking from the water, he says to Tyler, "It's gonna be all right, you know? This is going to be  _so sick_." Josh can read his mind. Josh always knew exactly what to say at exactly the right moments.

"All that fire gave me a headache," Tyler says, "but when they all started singing 'My Blood' with me, it went away." He's hugging his knees, disclosing this information and letting Josh keep moving the bubbles until they're around his mouth like a beard. He much prefers this beard over the stringy one he tried to grow over their year of silence.

Warm from the water, Josh's fingers slide along Tyler's face, lifting Tyler's head without Tyler needing him to ask. Josh knows. He's in tune with Tyler every step of the way. When he presses his mouth to Tyler's, Tyler genuinely begins to believe things might actually be all right. It wasn't that he thought things might be disastrous when they stepped on that stage; it's just that Tyler didn't expect things to go as well as they did. Soreness aside, he feels lighter than air to think that  _they got away with it_. They did this. They walked onto that stage and saw more than fifteen people out there, waiting and cheering for them, and Tyler allowed himself a moment to blink away tears before he opened his mouth and sang the first words their fans would forever remember as the first show of this new, and yellow, era.

Josh's tongue is in his mouth. His hands, they're under the water and passing along Tyler's thighs. Tyler allows them entry, slumping against the curve of the tub to prop one of his legs up on the tub's ledge. Goosebumps cling to his skin. He curls his toes. Josh scoots closer, kissing the spot beneath his ear. "I'm so proud of you," he says, and kisses Tyler there again.

Tyler smacks his hand over his mouth.

Another kiss there, and then Josh moves lower, lightly grazing his teeth across the curve of Tyler's neck and shifting until he's kissing Tyler's Adam's apple and Tyler's leaning his head back to accentuate it. With his hand still over his mouth, Tyler's breathing grows more rushed, and Josh, fearing a panic attack, pries Tyler's fingers away and instead replaces it with his lips. This kiss is short, sweet, and paired with a smile. "Hey," Josh says, and Tyler pushes the curls from Josh's forehead in response. "Hey," Josh says, and he says, "Is it okay if I jerk you off?"

Tyler's nod is stunted, but he's grinning, too, and Josh presses another peck to his mouth. "Okay. Hold on."

Doing as he's told, Tyler sticks his hands in the hair at the nape of Josh's neck and holds on, holds on even tighter at Josh's fist closing around his dick. Embarrassingly so, Tyler's body reacts as if he were shocked—and then, Josh is kissing him, and Tyler's sinking, floating, flying.

"I'm not going to last long," Tyler sighs into Josh's mouth.

"Maybe I don't want you to last long," Josh mumbles.

Tyler whimpers.

Josh laughs.

The setting doesn't matter and neither does their energy level. They could be well-rested and ready to take on the world, and they both would prefer languidly leaning their heads together and only allowing the smallest of breaths to pass from their lips.

They're allowed to be loud on stage, where they're expected to be loud and proud of it, but here, in the space for the two of them and no one else, while they're allowed to be loud here, as well, their voices never reach those octaves.

A quiet "yeah" passes between them, catching on wet skin on shoulders, necks, and lips. Tyler keeps curling his toes, hips giving the smallest of twitches. And Josh, Josh buries his nose into Tyler's temple and kisses Tyler's cheek. Tyler doesn't know why that's sending him over the edge, but it does, and Josh kisses him through it. Tyler realizes they're not really kissing, not exactly—mouth against mouth, open and breathing, and Tyler's smiling as Josh kisses all over his face and gives the smallest of rubs to the head of his cock.

"Yeah," Tyler says, an exhale that Josh takes in before licking up the length of Tyler's neck. "I didn't last that long."

"I told you—I didn't want you to last long."

Tyler eases his hand from Josh's hair and smacks his palm against the water again. He's thankful they won't have to clean up his mess since they're in a tub. Still, Tyler can't shake the feeling that it's a little gross to have his ejaculate floating in the tub with them. He smacks the water again, hoping the ripples send his semen away from their vicinity.

A whisper, Tyler says, "Lemme get you off, even though you already jerked off in the shower."

Josh rolls his eyes. "Tyler."

Poking Josh in the chest, right in the dip of his sternum, Tyler turns his wrist and digs in his fingertip. "Hey. I don't wanna jerk you off, okay? I, I, um… like, wow, do you think I can eat you out?"

Slow, Josh blinks, and slow, Josh shuffles back, away from Tyler, and sits between Tyler's open legs. Criss-cross applesauce, Josh sits there, blinking again and going, " _Tyler_." A faint blush sticks to Josh's cheeks, a blush Josh tries to peel away by hiding his face behind his hands.

Tyler kisses Josh's chest, each pectoral, each nipple.

"Okay, uh—uh, like, yeah. You can eat me out." Josh dares not remove his hands from his face. Tyler can see the blush spreading to Josh's chest, right where Tyler kissed, so Tyler kisses Josh's torso again. This time, his lips linger, and he spends as long as he can with Josh's nipples before Josh is batting him away and asking, "In the tub, right? I'd have to—to—" Josh glances at the water, at Tyler, and then he's raising himself up onto his knees and twisting his body around to show his back to Tyler. Instead of finding that yellow confetti like he found this evening, Tyler finds bubbles, and that makes him smile.

He cups water in his hands, scooting over the tiniest bit to allow the water to slip between his fingers and push the suds from Josh's skin. Josh shivers at the contact and shivers again once Tyler grabs his hips and presses kiss after kiss to every spot he remembers finding a piece of yellow confetti.

And strangely, Tyler suspects Josh knows exactly what he's doing, for Josh allows Tyler this moment of reminiscence. It was merely hours ago, and yet, Tyler's bones feel as if a century had passed. He's an old man.

Josh slips, kicking Tyler in the arm, and Tyler shouts a very exaggerated " _ow_ " and glares his best glare.

"My bad," Josh says, now on his hands and knees. Looking over his shoulder, he wiggles his hips.

Tyler grabs those hips and  _yanks_. "That's fine," he says. "I wanted you like this anyway."

Unfortunately, Josh doesn't hear Tyler's joke. He's under the water again, Tyler unable to control how strongly he pulls Josh's body toward his. He reasons this is okay after Josh comes out of the water coughing and very much breathing, albeit a tad heavy.

"Dude," Josh exhales.

Tyler spits on Josh's hole.

" _Dude_."

"You okay?" Tyler places both hands on Josh's ass and fights everything in him that wants him to bang his palms into Josh's ass cheeks like a pair of bongos.

Shifting slightly, Josh settles onto his hands. He inches them shoulder-width apart to save himself the trouble of drowning for a third time. "I think I'm okay. You've never eaten me out in a bathtub before."

"First time for everything." Tyler spanks Josh with both hands. The sound is pleasant, if not a little striking. He tried so hard to resist, but he is a devilman needing sated.

Josh sighs. "Oh, my God."

Tyler spanks him again, softer this time. With the water, it becomes easier to leave behind red prints. An animal, Tyler uses this to his advantage, and with eyes growing wide, he alternates his hands now, different speeds, different intervals. "Guess what song—"

"Tyler—"

Hearing Josh laugh is enough for Tyler to lose his concentration, not that he was particularly invested in what he was doing anyway. "Sorry," he says, meaning to sound sincere, but this is difficult to do when he's laughing as hard as he is now. As an attempt for him to calm down, Tyler kisses each red print on Josh's ass—ten kisses for each finger, and then two for each palm.

Josh says, "Fuck," and Tyler kisses Josh's perineum, and Josh says, "Shit."

"Right there?" Tyler tests, placing his hands onto Josh's ass once more. He grabs and does so gingerly. Honestly, Tyler wouldn't mind if Josh was too sore to sit down if it meant he didn't have to be the only one of their two-piece ensemble to constantly wince after every movement no matter how small. Different scenarios, yes, but Tyler considers this a small victory, if it's a victory at all.

"Right there?" Tyler repeats, skimming his lips over the curve of Josh's ass and the soft skin on Josh's testicles. Tyler licks lightly, the tip of his tongue catching on a pubic hair. This sensation isn't one that Tyler finds disgusting—quite the opposite, in fact; if he had not already spilled his seed into the bathwater, he would easily do so now.

Josh's answer lies in silence, in him nodding his head and looking over his shoulder. He looks at Tyler, eyes half-lidded and almost as dark as the bags beneath them, and the look is not one of lust—although, the lust itself does make itself known—but with admiration, warmth, and above all,  _love._ Never before has Tyler glanced up at the person he was currently performing oral sex on to see such a look of devotion and commitment in return. It stirs something in him. It's as Josh is reaching behind him to pat the top of Tyler's head that Tyler realizes it's pure love, devotion, and commitment, too.

When Tyler runs his tongue over Josh's hole, the air is met with silence once more. Like Tyler's climb to his climax minutes prior, Josh joins him in this quiet place. He exhales a hushed "yeah" four times, something Tyler found interesting enough to note. They occur at what may seem random, but are not random at all—once when Tyler drags his tongue from Josh's testicles to the small of his back, once when Tyler softly kneads Josh's ass, once when Tyler pulls away to  _stare_ , and once when Tyler mumbles a "yeah" of his own.

"Yeah," Josh goes, and Tyler goes, "Yeah?"

Josh says, "Yeah," and Tyler smiles and says, " _Yeah_."

Slowly, Tyler moves his hand, dropping it between Josh's legs to cradle his testicles. He doesn't miss the way Josh arches his back and presses into Tyler's face. Using his own hand to spread himself open for Tyler, Tyler now drops both hands between Josh's legs, one for his balls and one for his dick. Tyler is careful, measured, tongue and fingers and all.

He brings Josh to orgasm as gently as he can. At his release, Tyler slides his fist up Josh's cock and massages the tip just how they both like it.

Josh twitches more than Tyler. It's endearing.

Tyler presses his cheek to Josh's ass and says, "I love you, man."

"I can't feel my legs," Josh says. "Oh, and I love you, too."

Now an old man along with Tyler, Josh maneuvers into a sitting position, in front of Tyler again, and then they're sitting there, staring at each other, as if nothing happened. The grins on their faces are commonplace. Tyler hugs his knees and counts zero bubbles, and Josh leans in and kisses Tyler's forehead.

"Let's get out," Josh suggests, and Tyler nods.

Considerate of himself, his surroundings, and Tyler, Josh steps from the tub first. The towel on the rack dries his legs and nothing else. He slings it over his shoulder and turns on the heels of his feet, lowering to his knees and sinking his arms into the water. Like before, again, like nothing happened, Josh hooks one arm around the backs of Tyler's knees and one around the small of Tyler's back. He lifts Tyler. Tyler helps the best he can. Everything hurts.

He lets Josh dry him off, patting him because that's supposed to be better for the skin or something. Tyler can't remember exactly. His skin hurts. He knows that.

Tyler mumbles, "My skin hurts," and now, Josh knows that, too.

Josh kisses Tyler's chin, instinctive. "Come on." He returns the towel to the rack.

Stick-straight and abrasive, Tyler points to the floor. "My phone."

Eyes narrowing the smallest bit before remembering Tyler's physical state, Josh picks Tyler's phone from the floor. Tyler catches Josh wincing when he bends over to grab the phone. They each need to keep watch of the handprints on Josh's ass and if they disappear. Tyler wouldn't necessarily care if they were to remain, if it made everyone aware that Josh was his and his alone—if the inscription of his name across Josh's left knee hadn't already made that statement painfully obvious.

This became almost  _too_  painful to keep from noticing, especially since Josh made the decision to wrap yellow gaff tape around his knee, right over the spot Tyler inked up on stage, for their costumes for this era. "Over my heart," he told Tyler, and touched his hand to his chest, where the tape crossed in an  _X_  to mark the spot. "And…" The rip of the tape was harsh in the air as he tore a piece off the roll and looped it over his knee. "Over my heart." He touched Tyler's chest, then, after standing and decorating his pants, and Tyler couldn't help how abrasive he got into pulling Josh into a hug. Josh's hands were on his shoulders, the right hand dropping to his left bicep, and Josh squeezed, and Tyler whispered in his ear, " _You better not mess up the handshake when we go to film it_."

Josh had this goofy smile on his face at Tyler's voice, and the smile makes a reappearance in the bathroom. "What were you doing this time?" Josh asks, tapping the side of Tyler's phone. "Do you actually have new lyrics in that head of yours already?" He speaks out of nothing but amazement.

Tyler shrugs, holding out his hand for his phone. "Kinda? I was writing a new letter from Clancy."

They watch the next events play out in slow motion. It's a disaster, impossible to look away once it unfolds.

Tyler's hand is outstretched, fingers slightly curled to take the phone, and Josh is perfect—Josh is an angel—but Tyler, Tyler's a fool, and as soon as his phone is in his hand, his fingers curl too fast, too slow—Tyler doesn't even know, but he's looking at his phone in his hand, and then he's looking at his phone falling, falling, falling, and hitting the side of the tub and falling and falling into the water with a devastatingly soft  _plop_.

Josh pales. Tyler's mouth grows dry.

A bulb busts in Tyler's head. "He's dead," Tyler decides. "Clancy's dead."

Directing his hand to the small of Tyler's back, Josh fishes Tyler's phone from the tub. He's cursing himself for not draining the tub, so he does this next, not that it'd do much of anything now. He keeps his arm away from his body, fearing the phone might meet the water's depths if they're not careful. Kept between forefinger and thumb, Josh dangles the phone in front of Tyler's face.

Water drips, drips, drips.

And then, a saving grace—the screen lights up, revealing the Bourbaki group waiting patiently.

And strangely, Tyler smiles. "Maybe he's okay."

"He's gonna be okay," Josh vows.

Tyler tugs the towel from the rack and swaddles his phone inside it. He holds it as such. "Stay with me?"

The request is absurd. Leaving will never be a fathomable thought in even the deepest part of Josh's brain.

The request is also absurd in the sense it follows the beat Tyler was drumming on Josh's ass in the bathtub. It follows the lyrics of their latest single, of the song they each labelled a catalyst for them reaching enlightenment. With the help of the angel voices of their fans carrying them through the last shreds of their year-long silence, Tyler and Josh had looked to each other and smiled.

Now, Josh's smile is much the same, if not bigger. He scoops Tyler off his feet and kisses his cheek. "You don't need to run."

**Author's Note:**

> art for this fic: [[one](http://edyluewho.tumblr.com/post/182102603144)]


End file.
